


Whatever Way You Are, That's How I Will Love You

by Fenix21



Series: Everything Because I Love You [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Gen, dealing with a future child death, emotional outlet, letter to a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam writes a letter to his son, Beau, after finding out something tragic about his son's future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever Way You Are, That's How I Will Love You

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying something a little different here because this one just did not want to get itself down on paper even though it's pretty vital to another upcoming part of this series. So, I hope it works for you.

_Dear Beau,_

_I’m not not sure why I’m writing this. You’ll never be able to read it, and maybe that’s why I’m doing it. It’s my way of coping…._

_I’m never going to get to hear your voice, Beau; to talk to you, to listen to you late into the night while you ramble over some great new idea, or balk at your homework, or pine after a love lost or not yet won. I won’t get to see your face when you watch your mate come to you for the Bonding. I won’t get to hold your first pups in my arms…because none of those moments are going to happen._

_We started to worry about six months ago when you’d gone quite a bit longer than you brothers and sisters without Changing for the first time. I was more worried than your Dad. I usually am the one to worry first and worry most. Comes with being an Omega, I suppose. Your Dad kept saying you’d Change in your own time, and we kept hoping, but when you turned two last month and still hadn’t, we knew something was wrong._

_Your grandfather figured it out. He told us two days ago._

_He said it’s something called a_ Throwback _. It has something to do with a mutated chromosome I found out, and I don’t know, maybe I’m to blame for that somehow since I’m your father, but what it means in the end is that you can’t Change. Ever._

_I really expected it would be me to breakdown in a situation like this because, well, it’s me, and like I said: there are so many experiences I’m not going to get to share with you now. But that isn’t even the worst of it, and I think that was the part that wrecked your Dad._

_God…I don’t even know how to say this—if I even should say it—not that you’ll ever read it, so it really doesn’t matter, but—_

_I’m rambling._

_You’re only two years old. In wolf years, at least, and that’s just exactly the problem. You’re going to die, Beau. I mean, of course you’re going to die. We all die. Jesus…that sounds morbid. But as a wolf, you’ll age faster. Eight? Maybe ten years? That’s all you have. It seems like a lot. Like forever. But it’s not, and that’s what did in your Dad. That’s what crushed him._

_I don’t think I’ve ever seen him break like that. He was always the strong one, strong enough for both of us, for all of us, no matter what; and it almost scared me to see him go to pieces like he did. He just cracked and crumbled right there at the kitchen table in front of me and your grandfather. As a parent, you can kind of pretend that your kids are going to live forever because chances are pretty good they’ll outlive you, and you never need to worry about watching them die. It won’t be that way with you. One day it’s going to happen, and we’re going to be there to see it. If we don’t have to do it ourselves._

_And maybe that’s the thing that Dean fears the most. One day he’ll have to put you down…for the sake and safety of his family. And you._

_He’s downstairs right now as I’m writing this, on the porch, watching you play in the yard with Belle and Thane and Neal. There’s a tension in him that wasn’t there a few days ago. I can tell what he’s thinking. Always could. He’s waiting, looking for that first hint that you’re going to go feral, go wild, become too much_ wolf _and not enough_ Were _, to control. Even now. Even when it could be years before anything happens, if it ever does. It will wear off eventually, I know. But some part of him is broken now, I think, will always be wary and watching Waiting._

_And me? I’m…I don’t know. Like I said, I was surprised it wasn’t me who went to pieces over this. Maybe I didn’t because your Dad did. Maybe I will, yet. Maybe it all just has to sink in. The real reason I’m writing this, though? Even though you’ll never know it? (And your Dad would be right here over my shoulder reminding me of that if he knew I was doing this—but then I’ve always been the one to have more faith in hope.) Because you have to know that no matter what, we love you. We always will. No matter what happens in the coming years, no matter what you might do, we will always love you._

_I carried you and gave birth to you right along with your brothers and sisters, and the fact that you will be a wolf for the rest of your life will never have any effect on how much I love you or how I see you._

_And maybe I’m just a coward for writing this all down, trying to convince myself more than anything, but it doesn’t matter in the end. I love you. Your Dad loves you. Your brothers and sisters love you. You are part of this family forever, Beau. Come what may._

 

_Love,_

_Papa_

 

Sam laid down his pen and pushed the heels of his hands into his watering eyes. He wanted to blame the gust of spring breeze coming through the open bedroom window where the sounds of his children playing in the yard filtered up: Belle’s excited squeals, Thane’s delighted laugh, and Beau’s playful bark. He wanted to, but couldn’t.

‘Take it easy, Beau.’

Dean’s gruff but gentle reprimand floated up, and Sam’s brief smile faded and frayed at the edges and a tear escaped the corner of his eyes. He pulled the sheets of paper toward him and folded them slowly, methodically. There was little point in keeping them, Sam knew, but the spider-thread of hope that had caused him to set pen to paper in the first place made him stand up and tuck the folded letter into the journal he kept by his bedside. 

He had already lost one child, and he was going to lose another. He had a hard time believing the universe could be so cruel; and maybe that was why he hoped. Because nothing could ever be _all_ bad. Good had to come in somewhere, to provide a balance. He had to keep believing that. He did believe that. Because even if the worst happened and Beau died, or was killed, Sam had to be able to say to himself that he had never given up hope that it could have ended differently.

He closed the journal and replaced it in the drawer and went downstairs to join his family in the early afternoon sun.


End file.
